Of Depression and Pretending
by mrsProbie
Summary: Hermione Granger had always pretended to hate Severus Snape. Now that he's gone, she regrets it. Written for the 52 Weeks of Writing (Week 7) and the What We Pretend to Be challenge, both over at HPFC.


**A/N: Written for the 52 Weeks of Writing, Week 7, as well as the What We Pretend to Be Challenge over at HPFC. ****Prompts listed at the end.**

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Things hadn't been the same since the war had ended. Hermione glanced across the living room of Harry's tiny new flat at the boys, and that much was obvious. They were all right now, shifting Harry's couch slightly to the left, Ron smiling slightly when Harry stubbed his toe, but this seeming contentedness was only just that: seeming. Neither of them were okay, and neither was she.

There had been loss. There had been tragedy. There had been pain. None of that was going away. But they didn't want to talk about it, and she wasn't going to force them.

"I'm going to head home now," Hermione said, her head aching. Nothing in particular was causing it- the had a feeling that it was a combination of the low roar of the passing traffic, the particular shade of yellow which Harry's hallway was painted (she made a mental note to speak with him about fixing that), and the vague misery with which she had been afflicted lately.

The boys looked up, and she felt bad for not being able to better hide her emotions. They saw how she was feeling, and the small smiles they had been holding up fell away, but she tried to ignore their expressions. Ron spoke. "See you tomorrow?"

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. After a firm hug from each of the boys, she slipped into her socks and boots, steeled herself for the rain outside, and stepped out into the cold. She jumped slightly at the sound as she slammed the door shut. Everything seemed amplified. She could've Apparated to her flat, but she had a feeling her headache wouldn't allow her to do so accurately, and even if it did, the accompanying _crack_ would have her in tears.

And so she walked. Her mind wandered to those that she had lost, that the side of the Light had lost. It was too long of a list, she realized, and wondered if anyone had counted. _What's the point_? All anyone needed to know was that this never needed to happen again. Too many had been taken away from the world far too early. Too many had become heroes.

Severus Snape was one of the many. Snape had become a hero. She was finally allowed not to hate the man's guts, not that it mattered now. He'd never know that she'd been pretending. Yes, she had pretended all through her school years- and she'd done well. She had pretended herself to be so hateful of him even when she'd known that she shouldn't have been- she'd convinced herself to play along with the prejudices of her own House- she'd gone against her own intuition and had pretended to hate him- had listened as her friends called him things she wouldn't call Lucius Malfoy- had stood by.

_Had Severus Snape been a student_, she thought to herself as she slid in her key to unlock her own flat, _I would've been indulging bullies. No! _She shook her head. _He was awful!_ Easy justifications weren't good enough solutions. She needed a drink. She needed to be drunk.

Even in the state she was in, she took the time to gingerly place her keys on the appropriate spot of the rack in her kitchen and to set her purse down next to the water bowl of her new cat, Oscar, before practically launching herself at the top cabinet, right above the sink. She pushed past the digestives, prescriptions, and safety kit, her hand grasping for the painkillers. She took three.

She had been tempted, several times, to take far more than that, to force far too many down her throat, but she was Hermione Granger, and Hermione Granger was a trooper. Hermione Granger couldn't ever find herself spiraling into depression- certainly not over a stupid thing like how she'd _pretended_ to hate a professor- and she couldn't ever want to harm herself. No, at worst, Hermione Granger would find herself succumbing to the boredom of life since the war, staring into the ceiling for hours on end when she couldn't sleep. Life _had_ been dull since the war. Without being caught up in grand battles betwixt good and evil, or Horcrux-chasing, or even final exams, she was finding herself dragging through the mundane. Grocery shopping. Paying her rent. A steady job at a bookshop.

And so that was why she came home and willed herself to be drunk. She never was, though- she took far too many pills for that, and it wasn't as though she wanted herself _dead_. She had a feeling she simply wanted not to feel, and her painkillers helped with that. They weren't just for the physical pain.

It was time for her to go to bed. She slipped out of her pants without ceremony and pushed them with her foot over to her laundry hamper. Near enough. She threw her shirt and bra in that general direction as well before curling up under her blankets. It didn't take long for her to fall into a deep sleep- the lack of sleep over the week before had built up, and both her body and her mind were utterly exhausted.

She lost consciousness, and all was darkness. Then, a face. _His _face, no body. Just the face of Severus Snape, suspended in darkness_._ "Hello, Miss Granger."

"Hello, Professor." She heard herself speak, but was not aware of her own presence, could not feel herself. He gave no reply, only holding eye contact with her. "Professor?" He still didn't speak, but he began to cry. "Professor?" Now his tears were blood, and she screamed- but this time, she felt it in her throat.

Then, Snape disappeared, and all was dark once again. After a moment, Albus Dumbledore's face appeared, and she felt bile rise. "Miss Granger," he said gently.

She wanted to call him things, to yell profanities at him, to demand to know why he had done as he had done, why he had made the decisions he did. All she could do, though, was cry, feeling the cool tears tracing salty paths down her cheeks. It took a moment for her to be able to speak, and even once she regained the ability, her words came out as nothing but a hoarse whisper. "You said everything was going to be okay!"

He frowned, said nothing, and then he was gone. No twinkling eyes. No wink over half-moon glasses. He was gone, just as he had suddenly been gone years ago. She was shaking then, but not of her own accord. No, she was beyond shaking, she was thrashing. What was happening?

She awoke with a start. Harry's eyes were over hers, concerned, and she blushed. Her blanket had slid down the front of her, but he seemed to either not notice or not care. "I, er... you forgot your mobile," Harry said, "so I brought it over, but... then I heard screaming." When she didn't reply, only stared dully up at him, not even bothering to wipe away the tears, he continued. "You seemed like you needed to be woken up."

Hermione still didn't move. "Thank you," she said, still in a hoarse whisper.

"What were you dreaming of?" Harry asked, leaning back now and settling himself at the base of her bed, allowing her to gather her blanket and better cover herself. She frowned, wiping her face with the palm of her hand now. "Come on, Hermione," he said gently, "you need to talk about it. You always made me talk."

"You wouldn't want to hear it, Harry," she whispered.

"Try me." He set a hand on her blanket-covered knee.

"I never hated Severus Snape." She swallowed. "I rather liked him."

–

_**52 Weeks Compulsory Prompts: low, yellow, tragedy, socks, rain, cold, 'What is the point?', boredom, sleep, mundane**_

_**52 Weeks Optional Prompts: solutions, drunk, digestives, depression, harm**_

_**52 Weeks Bonus Prompt: blood**_

_**What We Pretend to Be Prompts: Hermione/Severus, sad, "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." - Kurt Vonnegut**_

_**Strong as United Prompts: Darkness, Loss**_

_**If You Dare Prompt: 2 - Vague Misery**_


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